


My Favorite Things

by Imaginationmeaway



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, Flashbacks, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, I just want my sons to be okay, John Laurens is a Total Sweetheart, M/M, My First Fanfic, Panic Attacks, Pining, Pre-Slash, Roommates, Singing, Sound of Music, Storms, slight mentions of problematic childhoods
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-23
Updated: 2017-01-23
Packaged: 2018-09-19 09:20:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9432566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Imaginationmeaway/pseuds/Imaginationmeaway
Summary: Few people know that John Laurens can sing.  Even fewer have actually heard him.This is how Alex becomes one of the lucky ones.





	1. Alex

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first time I've published anything, so if you have any feedback (good or bad) I'd love to hear it! I'm considering adapting it to fit into a longer fic, but I wanted to get feedback on this bit first. I wrote this over Christmas break, while listening to Leslie Odom Jr's album and was inspired by his cover of "My Favorite Things." Thanks for reading!

It was a dark and stormy night, which Alex hadn't noticed until the first _crash _of thunder shook the dorm building to its foundation and startled him out of his chair.  
__

__He'd been getting better. He had. He'd learned from bitter experience how to prepare, how to sequester himself away from the rest of the world with blankets and headphones and brilliant clashing music to drown out the wind and rain as best he could while he was shaking apart from memories that were worse than any nightmare his brain could summon. He could handle it, usually.__

But usually, he had time. He'd religiously check the weather, paranoid that every shift of wind would bring the storm with all of the awful memories riding on its back, bearing down on him.

But now, there was no time, and with nothing to distract it, his frenetic mind pitched itself over the edge of hysteria. His rapid thought pattern shifted from a blessing to a curse as he tumbled into all the horrific memories of the past.

Alex couldn't tell if the wind outside was causing the static in his ears but he couldn't hear and he couldn't see and the wind was deafening and water ripped across his body and he didn't know where Mamá was and he was so cold and he was scared, he was so scared and rain stung his face and it hurt it hurt it hurt, but over the rain came an Angel’s chorus? Was this it, was the end here at long last? The angels were weeping for this destruction and so was he but now it didn’t matter anymore. This was it. This was his time the storm would take him for good this time and he was going to die this time, he was finally going to die here and now and the hurricane had caught up to him and it was his turn to go and he was going to die here and now and

A voice came closer and someone…someone was holding him? He didn't remember someone being with him or warmth while he was in the hellish storm but maybe an angel had heard his tears and come to get him because the voice was warm and safe and singing, singing about kittens and mittens and...no, wait...this song was out of place why does he know this song that doesn't fit – but another violent crash of the hurricane crushed the thought and someone whimpered and he wondered how he could hear it over the roaring elements but the beautiful voice stopped and he turned frantic, gripped the angel holding him and begged. "Please, please," and the arms around him tightened and the voice kept singing and Alex was shaking and he was so cold but the voice was warm and nearby and rumbled under his fingers and Alex held tight to the Angel and hoped Mamá was on the other side.


	2. John

John dropped his bag at the foot of his bed, peeling off his gloves and unwinding the scarf from around his neck, watching Alexander pour over his computer. His roommate hadn't looked up when he came in, not even when he'd called out his usual "Yo, Alex."  


John looked over Alex’s desk, considering. It was a mess, but that was to be expected. He counted the coffee cups – only three today – and with no signs of empty caffeine tablet packets, he figured Alex would be fine for now. There was even a half-eaten sandwich and an untouched apple, so at least the man had tried.  


John chewed at his lower lip, debating interrupting him, but… he cataloged the way Alex sat perfectly still, except for his fingers flying over the keyboard, and the way a deep furrow scrunched between his brows – a particular scowl reserved for Seabury – and he knew from experience it would be easier to let the man burn off some of the coffee on his brilliant writings before trying to convince him to take a break.  


He sprawled out on his bed, picking up his book and listening to the oddly comforting combination of the clacking of Alex's keyboard and the howl of the wind outside.  


_Might rain tonight _, John thought, absently, flipping the book open to the dog-eared page and settling back against his pillows.__  


..............................................................................................................................................................................................................................

John looked up once or twice to eye Alex, who still hadn't moved – his back had to be aching with the way he slumped over his desk – but he’d tuned out the light rain until the first boom of thunder was followed by Alex crashing to the floor.  


"Alex? You alright? Man, you musta been really into it if you didn't even... Alex?"  


Alex wasn't getting up, and John’s eyebrows creased with concern, swinging his legs off the bed as he sat up. "Alex?"  


He frozen on the floor, hands splayed out on the nasty old carpeting and his eyes wide and unseeing, and his panicked breaths were audible even from across the room. Another roll of thunder had Alex scrambling backwards until he was boxed into the corner between his desk and the wall, his face buried in his knees and his hands in a white knuckled grip on his hair over his ears. A sound that was unmistakably a sob broke from his chest and John crossed the space between them in a single stride.  


"Alex? Alex what's wrong?" No response, just more panicky hyperventilating. "Alex I'm gonna touch you, alright?" Still no response. John took a liberty and wrapped an arm across his shoulders and pulled him into his chest.  


Here's the thing. John didn't sing. Or at least, he didn't let anyone know that he did, and that's the way he liked it. Usually, John would do anything to keep it that way.  


But right now, John wasn't thinking about usually. John was thinking about the song that his own mother would sing when he couldn’t sleep, and he was thinking about his prideful and independent best friend trembling in his arms, and he desperate to do something to help with whatever this was.  


"Raindrops on," and his voice cracked and he coughed, grimacing and tightening his hold on the stiff and immobile Alex before trying again.  


"Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens," and there, that was better, his voice remembering what it was supposed to do and sliding out easily. "Bright copper kettles and warm woolen mittens,"  


"Brown paper packages tied up with string, these are a few of my favorite things."  


John had just shown this musical to Alex a few weeks ago. He hadn't mentioned that it was his mother’s favorite movie, or that his childhood had revolved around singing the songs with his siblings and his mom, back when things had been cheerful in the Laurens’ house. He and Alex had an understanding – there would be no sharing of their pasts beyond slips of the tongue and wordless hugs after nightmares. But John had wanted to share it with Alex, and Alex had watched with wide-eyed wonder even without the explained context.  


"Girls in white dresses with blue satin sashes," he continued. 

"Snowflakes that stay on my nose and eyelashes,  
Silver white winters that melt into springs  
These are a few of my favorite things."  


John shifted his hold, pulling Alex closer, but when he whimpered, John’s chest constricted, choking off the words on his tongue. Alex went from tense and unmoving to like an octopus, folding himself impossibly tiny into John lap, face buried in his shoulder.  


"No, please, lo siento, please, yo quiero mi mamá, lo siento, please, don't go, angel por favor I didn't mean to don't leave me.” His lips brushed against the skin on his neck and John a bolt of _heat-want-need-Alex ___sliced through him.  


"Please, please," and John kept singing, his voice a bit shakier than before but he was trying, dammit.  


"When the dog bites, when the bee stings  
When I'm feeling sad  
I simply remember my favorite things  
And then I don't feel so bad"  


John couldn't remember the next verse, so he just started at the top again. Alex shook like a leaf against him and John carefully carded a hand through his hair, earning him a shaky sigh and tightening of the hand clinging to his shirt.  


Every time Alex almost relaxed completely, the storm outside would growl and all the tension would come rushing back through his body. John just rocked him through it, still singing quietly even when his voice started to give out.  


_How long has he been afraid of storms? ___John wondered during a brief respite. _Has he been dealing with this by himself? Oh god, where has he been hiding I am a terrible friend._  


Alex settled for good at about three in the morning. At this point, John was coughing more than he was singing, so when Alex started sleeping through faint growls of thunder from the fading storm John heaved a sigh of relief and shifted his weight. _Well, now what._  


John looked at Alex, toying with a lock of his hair as he considered his options. _I mean...he's pretty light. I can probably pick him up. ___  


Alex made a small noise of protest as John lifted him but settled again, nuzzling into John’s neck with a heavy sigh. John’s skin heat with embarrassment but he bit his lip and tried to ignore it. _Now is not the time, Laurens. ___  


Alex's bed was in as much chaos as his mind and his desk. Stacks of papers and books were strewn across the crumpled blankets, and John wasn’t sure he’d have been able to clean it up even if his hands weren’t occupied.  


John’s bed, on the other hand, was clean of everything but the book he'd been reading, and the covers were even pulled back from when he'd abandoned the bed earlier, but… wouldn’t this just be taking advantage? John chewed on his lower lip, but Alex was heavier than he looked so he made the impulsive decision and settled him on the mattress.  


When John went to let go of him, he got a real protest from Alex, who clung to his shirt and whined, his forehead wrinkling and nose scrunching up with a small growl.  


"Shh, Alex," he said, petting his hair. "It's okay. I'm here. I'm not going anywhere." John hesitantly slid into the narrow bed next to him, and Alex grumbled as he wrapped his arms around John again like a limpet. "I've got you, baby girl, I've got you."  


..............................................................................................................................................................................................................................

John woke up the next morning with an aching throat, an arm he couldn't feel and a warm deadweight on his chest. John blinked down at the mop of unruly brown hair and memories of the night before came flooding back. An embarrassed flush rose on his cheeks and he used the arm he could feel to brush some of Alex's hair back behind his ear.  


A soft sigh, and John watched as his lashes fluttered when he blinked awake.  


Suddenly he was sitting up and pushing John away and scrambling to get out of bed, and would have fell out of bed if John hadn't snatched his elbow and tugged hard.  


"Idiot, you'll fall," he muttered, yawning widely.  


"John I'm sorry I didn't mean to I'm sorry I don't know what happened but I'm sorry and I –"  


"Christ, Alexander, it's way too early for you t' be talkin’ that fast." His voice cracked and he made a face, swallowing hard before coughing. He looked up at Alex, who knelt near John's knees with wide eyes.  


He looked wrecked, with red, puffy eyes and tear tracks still obvious on his face.  


"Aw, hell, c'mere." John yawned again, stretching an arm out in invitation. Alex hesitated before settling back against John's chest, but he was stiff now, and not as sleep-warm.  


"John-"  


"Storm. Didn't know you’d get scared. S'ok. Not judging." Damn, he was so fucking tired, and he liked having Alex with him. He reached up to tangle his hand in Alex's hair again.  


"Did you..." John tensed. "Were you singing to me?"  


"Yeah. Sound of music. Mom used to sing it to me." Alex stiffened in response to the coldness in John’s voice. After a beat of silence:  


"You have a nice voice," he admitted. "I didn't know you could sing."  


"Most don't."  


"Who does?"  


"M' family, mostly. Mentioned it to Herc, once. I think Laf knows but I dunno. Mighta heard me in the shower or somethin’."  


"So... I'm the only one you've sung to?"  


"Mm. Yeah. Since mom died, a' least."  


John froze. He hadn't meant to say that. Alex was quiet though, for once, while John took his time letting out the breath he'd choked on.  


"Um. Sound of music was my mom’s favorite musical. She used to sing to me when I was afraid of the dark. Figured storms aren’t quite the same but I wanted… I thought, maybe…"  


"Thank you, John."  


"Is it always that bad?" He hadn't meant to ask, but fuck it, he was still waking up and the curiosity was killer. Sue him. And a small, vindictive part of him wanted Alex to share something equivalent to what he had, to level things out.  


"Not... that bad. Er. Not always. I didn't know it was supposed to rain or I'd... I'd have gone somewhere else."  


John frowned at that, twisting a little to try and see Alex's face better. "Why?"  


"Don't want to bother you."  


"You aren't a bother, Alexander."  


There was a beat of silence, and Alex's grip tightened on John’s shirt.  


"When I was younger there was a hurricane." John stopped moving. "I was the… sole survivor, in my town."  


_Holy shit,_ John thought.  


"Um. I don't really...I don't...storms just...remind me of it. I can still hear... I ... It wasn't...good." Alex sounded like he was choking on gravel.  


"S'alright. I'll come find you next time it rains. Don't want you t' be alone."  


"John," Alex started but he didn't continue, lifting his head to stare into John’s eyes. Goddammit, Alexander, stop being beautiful and go back to bed. John grumbled incoherently and tugged him closer. "It's okay, Alex. C'mon. Sleeping. S'too early. I got you."  


It took him a minute, but he relaxed back down into the crook of John's neck, breath tickling the sensitive skin there. John rubbed his cheek against the soft strands of Alex's hair, sighing in contentment and drifting back to sleep. They could deal with the heavy thoughts later, after several more hours of sleep and a cup or two of coffee. 


End file.
